


Mama Don't Preach

by Duck_Life



Category: Andi Mack (TV)
Genre: Angst, Family, Gen, Graduation, High School, Pre-Canon, Secrets, Teen Pregnancy, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-18
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-04-24 10:23:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14353533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duck_Life/pseuds/Duck_Life
Summary: Bex is 18, pregnant and alone.Well, not completely alone. She's got her mom and dad.





	Mama Don't Preach

Pregnancy is an act of creation, the miracle of two people coming together and making a third. It’s the way everybody comes into this world. It’s a process of love and growth and adding to the population a brand new baby. It’s the start of a new life.

So why does it feel like the end of hers? 

Bex tips her head back against the bathroom wall, looking anywhere but at the pregnancy test in her hand. Two blue lines. She keeps checking it, but it’s still two blue lines. It’s not going to change. 

Just as her mind starts to race with all the panicked thoughts and worries and possibilities that two blue lines lead to, her dad knocks on the door. “Bex? Dinner!”

“Just a minute!” she all but hollers, still holding the positive pregnancy test like a smoking gun. Bex jumps up and looks around frantically for a hiding place. The trash is too obvious, and besides, her dad always checks the garbage for anything that can be recycled. The medicine cabinet? No, they look there. Finally, desperately, she drops it in the toilet and flushes. 

The pregnancy test vanishes down the pipe but the water keeps swirling in the toilet bowl, the level rising higher and higher. “Bex?”

“Just washing my hands!” she says, turning on the faucet and then flushing the toilet again. Nothing happens except that even more water fills up the bowl. “ _ Shit _ ,” she mumbles, slamming the lid closed. It’ll just have to be a problem for Future Bex, because right now, she needs to deal with her parents. 

Bex steps outside and almost knocks into her dad. “Everything okay?” he says, holding a hand out to steady her.

“Yeah,” she says, smiling and hoping she looks convincing. “Yeah, everything’s fine.” 

All through dinner, her stomach churns, and she doesn’t know if it’s just anxiety or if she’s already getting morning sickness. When is that supposed to start anyway? And is it really only contained to mornings or can it happen in the afternoon? At dinnertime? The middle of the night? 

She never realized that not paying attention in seventh grade health and human development would come back to bite her in the ass. After ghosting through goodnights with her parents, Bex ascends to her bedroom and scribbles out some homework answers without really thinking them through. She’s only a few months from graduating, why does it matter now? 

She rests a hand over her stomach. Why does anything matter now? 

It’s only nine but she flicks off the light and stretches out in bed, doing period math in her head and wondering if she should call Bowie. It’s been a few weeks— no, over a month— since the night of the winter formal. Of course, she and Bowie never actually  _ made it _ to winter formal. Didn’t even buy tickets. They got all dressed up and took pictures for her mom and dad, and then they drove up to Bowie’s aunt’s lakehouse for the evening. 

Now he’s traveling with his band. And she’s got a tiny person growing inside of her. 

School the next day is just a blur. Bex makes meaningless conversation with her friends and takes meaningless notes in her notebook on meaningless topics. During a free period she sits cross-legged on the floor of the library, sequestered between a few shelves, and makes a list in the very back of her spiral-bound notebook. 

ABORTION — Pros

  * can get it done before college in the fall
  * less chance of anyone finding out
  * low responsibility



ABORTION — Cons

  * stigmatized
  * expensive
  * baby will probably be super cute but i’ll never get to see it



ADOPTION — Pros

  * baby will have a stable family (probably)
  * i get to give the best gift ever to a couple who maybe can’t have a baby



ADOPTION — Cons

  * go thru pain of pregnancy/labor and then don’t keep the baby
  * might get attached to baby
  * what if they grow up and then i’m like 48 and single and i meet a cool 30 yr old and we go on a date and then i realize they’re the baby i gave up



KEEP IT — Pros

  * get to give it a cute name
  * raise it and love it and get to know my super cool baby
  * moms get breakfast in bed on mother’s day



KEEP IT — Cons

  * no college
  * no bowie
  * mom and dad (mostly mom) will kill me



Bex brushes eraser shavings off her paper and stares at the list of pros and cons for what she sees as her three options. No matter what, she has to do  _ something _ . She can’t just ignore this thing until it goes away. 

The bell rings and Bex shoves her pencil and notebook back in her backpack, trying and failing to ignore the pit in her stomach that might be nervousness or might be baby. 

When she gets home and walks in the door, flinging her backpack into its usual spot on the dining room table, she finds her dad sitting in the kitchen with his arms folded. “Hey…” she starts, feeling suddenly like a small animal under attack. “What’s up, Dad?”

“I had to unclog the toilet today,” he says. He might as well have announced her execution date. Bex actually winces.

“Oh,” she says, sliding into a counter seat across from him. “What, um, what was the problem?”

“Why don’t you tell me what you think I found?” he says, and even though his demeanor is pretty ruthless, his tone is soft. “Rebecca?” 

“Yeah,” she sighs, patches of color rising in her face. She looks down at her hands, at the grainy marble of the countertop, anything but her dad’s face. “Yeah. I know what you found.” 

“Were you going to tell us?”

Bex looks up, sniffs, wipes stubborn tears away from her eyes. “I figured eventually you would find out,” she admits. “Does Mom know?”

“I haven’t told her yet,” Ham says. 

“Good, ‘cause you know, I was thinking, I could wait a few years and then I could get the baby to tell her,” Bex says. 

Ham’s expression changes. “So you… you decided you’re going to have this baby?” 

“I don’t know!” Bex wails, burying her face in her hands. “I don’t know what I’m going to do. I’m  _ barely _ old enough to vote! How am I supposed to decide whether or not to have a baby?”

“Because you already made the decision to do something irresponsible,” he says, and again, the words are stern but his voice is gentle. “Now you need to deal with the consequences.”

“So being pregnant is what? A punishment for having sex?” 

“No, no, that’s not what I said.” Ham sighs and starts cleaning the pots and pans from last night, slowly and methodically. “But you’re an adult now, technically. And when adults make big decisions, those decisions lead to other big decisions and there’s no easy fix like there is when you’re a kid.” 

“Dad, why’re you doing the dishes?”

“Because I’m stressed out!” he says, finally breaking. Soapy water flies from his hands. “I’m stressed out and I don’t know what else to do!”

Bex hurries around the counter and switches off the kitchen sink and hugs him, feeling his arms go around her like when she was seven and scraped her knee. “Me too,” she says, her face pressed into his button-down shirt. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do. Can’t you just decide for me?”

“Doesn’t work like that, pumpkin,” he says, but he keeps hugging her and he smooths a hand over her unruly hair. “This is something you need to decide for yourself. Or with Bowie. It’s Bowie’s right?” She nods. “You gonna call him?” She shakes her head. “Are you sure?” Bowie’s the kind of guy that might be a bad influence on a lot of girls. On her, though, he was actually a good one. Which said more about Bex than it did Bowie, really, but still. “Bowie’s smart. He’s got a good head on his shoulders, knocking up high school students notwithstanding.”

“No, I can’t tell him, because I know what will happen,” Bex sighs, backing away from her dad. “Either he’ll stick with his band and feel guilty, or he’ll give up his dream to come back here and then I’ll feel guilty. I would just rather he were out there living his best life, and I was here…”

“Doing what?” Ham asks. “What are you going to do, Bex?” 

That’s the question that’s rolling around in her head as she lies awake in bed that night. What is she going to do? She switches on her bedside lamp and pulls out her list from earlier, reads over the pros and cons of her three options. 

If she gets an abortion, she’ll have the summer to recover and then she can start college in the fall. And do… what exactly? She’s had twelve years now to figure it out and she still has no idea what she wants to do with her life. She isn’t musical, like Bowie. She does okayish in all her classes but none of them stick out to her as a particular passion. 

If she works really hard on her applications, she can maybe get into a moderately nice state school and major in English or business or something, and then she can get a job in a cubicle and make some money, and maybe someday get married and have a baby when she’s actually ready to. 

That sounds boring. So boring it almost puts her to sleep. Adoption then? But that’s just the same scenario, only postponed. If she has the baby and gives it up for adoption, then she can start college the next fall, major in English or business or something, get a job in a cubicle and make some money and maybe someday get married and have a baby when she’s actually ready to. 

Or. Or. She could keep the baby. Have the baby, name the baby, raise the baby. She still doesn’t know what she wants to be. Maybe “mom” is the way to go. 

With her mind going in too many different directions like a bunch of frayed wires, Bex slides her pro and con list back in her backpack, pretty sure what she’s going to do— and terrified of it. She tiptoes down the hall and into her parents’ room, crawling into their bed and wiggling in beside her mother.

Celia wakes up, confused. “Bex, what are you doing?”

“I had a bad dream,” she lies, whispering. “Can I just sleep in here for a little bit?”

“Mm.” Celia scoots over; Ham keeps snoring, oblivious. Bex lies down next to her mom and her mom drapes an arm over her. She tries not to think about how this might be the last time Mom hugs her like this. 

Because tomorrow she’s going to have to tell her. Tomorrow she’s going to have to face her mom and tell her the truth. 

“YOU’RE WHAT?” Celia shouts so loudly that Bex is pretty sure birds are flying off the trees, startled, blocks away from the house. “How? When?  _ Who _ ? Rebecca Mack, you know better, we taught you better than this and I cannot  _ believe _ how irresponsible and reckless you would be with something so  _ serious _ . You realize that everything in your life changes now, right?”

“Yes, Mom.”

“No more partying, no more staying up late, no alcohol.”

“Mom, I don’t even drink.”

“Oh! Well! How  _ responsible _ of you! Daughter of the year!” She snips at her peace lily, shears flying a little too fast. “I’m so—”

“I know, I know, you’re not mad, you’re just disappointed,” Bex recites.

“Oh no, I’m mad,” Celia corrects her, nostrils flaring. “Rebecca, you have no idea how to raise a child.”

“Well I’ve got nine months to learn!” She meant to be quiet, respectful, but Bex’s mother always gets under her skin, knows exactly which buttons to push to make her see red. 

“Eight,” Celia corrects. “Eight months now. Thank you for illustrating my point. You have  _ no _ idea what you’re doing.” 

“I know!” And then she does the absolute last thing she wanted to do in front of her mom; she cries. “I know, I know I don’t know what I’m doing and I’m  _ scared _ and I just… I just need you here.” 

Celia’s expression softens. She sets down the gardening shears and comes around the counter, pulling Bex into her arms in a near mirror of Bex’s conversation with her dad the day before. “I know,” she says. “I’m here. I’m mad, but I’m here.” 

After that it’s OB/GYN appointments, decaf coffee, and switching out her chunky platform sandals for comfortable sneakers as her feet start to swell. Her dad strolls by the couch one day while she’s watching  _ Gilmore Girls _ . 

“Taking notes?” he asks, peeking down at the sheet of notebook paper in front of her. 

“Yeah, just trying to see how Lorelai Gilmore handled all of this,” Bex jokes. “Nah, it’s— they’re baby names.” 

“Ooh, let me see,” Ham says, and he snatches the list away from her before she can stop him. “Boys— Avery, Joshua, Benedict… Benedict?”

Bex huffs. “It’s not finalized yet.”

“Mm.” Ham peers over the rest of the list. “Why is Andi on the girls list? Andi is a boy’s name.”

“Not when it’s spelled with an ‘i,’” Bex says. “Andi with an ‘i’ is a girl’s name.” 

“Andi Mack,” Ham repeats, musing. “Andi Mack. Hm. It just doesn’t really… flow.”

Grant High School isn’t necessarily a gossipy place, but when she starts showing in April the news spreads fast. Bex just tries to keep her head down and focus on her classwork, but it gets harder and harder to ignore the whispers and pointed stares. 

One morning as she’s minding her own business on her way to class, Bex accidentally bumps into a girl standing by the lockers. “Sorry, my bad.”

“Whore,” the girl says, rolling her eyes. 

Bex almost lets it go, almost keeps walking and keeping her head down. But instead she turns and stares at the girl. “Sorry, could you say that louder? I don’t think my unborn child heard you.” And she gives the other girl the bird.

Unfortunately, the principal, Mr. Smedley, spots her. “Miss Mack, can I see you in my office?” 

As Bex follows Smedley down the hall, she looks back and gets one last look at the girl waving sweetly to her with a cruel smirk. 

Smedley leads her into his office and sits behind his desk, and he glares at her until she takes the seat on the other side. “I’m trying to run a decent school full of decent people,” he says in his whiny, needling voice. “Do you know what doesn’t belong in a decent school of decent people?”

Bex tilts her head. “Assholes?” 

“Vulgar hand gestures,” Smedley says, not amused. “Vulgar hand gestures don’t belong in my school, and neither does vulgar language.” Bex folds her hands and waits for him to keep talking. “Miss Mack, you’ve been a distraction for the other students for a while now. I trust you can keep your outbursts under control from now on.”

A distraction. Because of the whispers, because of the bump. Because of the baby. Because apparently everyone else’s fragile sense of decency matters more than her getting an education. 

“Wow, well, sir, I’ll try,” Bex says, giving him her biggest, fakest grin. “But, gosh, who knows, with all these hormones bouncing around and making me crazy I might just end up bitch-slapping a member of school administration.” She pushes herself out of the chair and heads for the door.

“Miss Mack—”

“I’m excused.” 

On graduation day, Bex is grateful for the big formless graduation gown that hides her baby bump. She accepts her diploma when they call her name, and while she’s holding up the certificate, she uses it to block the view of her hand as she gives Smedley the finger. 

Bex tosses her cap in the air with the rest of the Grant High class of 2003.

Somehow, it doesn’t feel real to her. As she’s hugging her friends and crying and telling them to have good summers and have fun at USC and UCLA and UNC, all she can think about is the cantaloupe-sized baby growing inside of her. (She knows it’s the size of a cantaloupe, she read that in one of the baby books her dad got her.) 

Bex sits in the doctor’s waiting room, fanning herself with a copy of Highlights. She’d been trying (and failing) to solve the “find the differences” picture. It’s a hot June day. Her cargo shorts are getting too tight for her thighs and her belly sticks out from under her fringed tank top. 

One woman sits beside her and glances over. “Oh, you look pretty far along,” she says with a friendly smile. “You and the father must be so excited.”

“There’s, um, there’s no father,” Bex says. 

“Oh!” the woman says, and she’s quiet for a moment. Then she says, “Well, I just want you to know, I support your lifestyle. I used to watch  _ Ellen _ all the time.”

Bex is still trying to figure out how to feel about that comment when the obstetrician calls her name. It’s kind of amusing and kind of sad— even in Utah, gay parents are apparently more acceptable than single parents. 

Celia comes with her for the next doctor’s appointment, and they watch as the ultrasound image flickers onto the screen. “There she is,” the obstetrician says. 

Bex’s mom turns to her. “It’s a girl? You didn’t tell me it was a girl.” 

“I forgot,” Bex says, trying to tune out her mom.

“You forgot? How can you forget something so—”

“Hey, hey, mom, grandma,” the doctor says, turning a knob on the machine. Steadily, the sound of the baby’s heartbeat fills the room. It’s a muffled but strong sound. It’s the most incredible sound Bex has ever heard, and she’s seen Aerosmith live. 

“Oh…” Celia says, clutching at Bex’s hand. Bex holds her mom’s hand and listens to her daughter’s heartbeat. 

Walmart has a decent selection of maternity clothes. Bex looks at herself in the mirror with the overlarge blouse draped over herself, admires the elastic waistband of the shorts she’s trying on. She looks ridiculous. 

The baby kicks and she brings a hand to her abdomen, smiling. “I know, I know, I look terrible,” she agrees with the baby. “I look like…” A mom. She looks like a mom. 

Her Nokia phone goes off and she scrambles to grab it and answer it. “Hello?”

“Bex!” It’s Bowie. “Hey, I had a spare moment and some spare change so I found a pay phone. Just wanted to check in. How’ve you been? How was graduation?” 

“G-great,” Bex says, staring at herself in the dressing room mirror. Her baby bump is getting so big it looks like a camel’s hump. “I’m great. How are you?”

“Fantastic!” She can picture him, his hair sweeping over his eyes, stubble beginning to climb up his babyface jaw. She imagines him crammed into a roadside phone booth or maybe hunched over a phone at a diner. “Me and the boys had the most amazing crowd the other night. We actually sold a couple CDs.” 

“That’s great,” Bex says, trying to think of a word besides “great.” “Yeah, I’m… haven’t moved out yet, but it’ll happen. Eventually.” She doesn’t know where that lie came from. She’s not even sure how to go about getting her own place. She doesn’t even have a real job; she’s been working as a receptionist for the past month because it gets her some cash and keeps her off her feet. 

“Fun, fun,” Bowie says. “So, listen. I’m coming back home for a weekend so I can drive my uncle to his knee surgery. I was thinking maybe I could take you out for pizza.”

Pizza. Bowie. She’d love to, but he’s calling her about seven months too late for a casual get-together. And Bowie can’t even commit to a cell phone. Now more than ever, she’s sure she was right not to tell him about the baby. 

“What weekend?” she says, shutting her eyes. She doesn’t want to watch herself lie to Bowie. 

“Two weeks from this Saturday.”

“Oh.” Bex sighs. “I can’t, I’m sorry. I’m busy that weekend.”

“Oh.” She can tell Bowie sounds disappointed. “Well, maybe some other time.”

“Yeah,” Bex says, resting a hand on her belly. “Maybe some other time.” 

Nearing the end of her pregnancy, Bex gets jittery and decides to dye her hair red. All of it, the whole head. She thinks it makes her look like a rock star, albeit a pregnant rock star, but her mother’s not so pleased.

When Celia walks in the front door and sees Bex’s hair, she screams. Just screams. From behind her, Ham says, “What are you screaming for? She’s already pregnant, what else could…?” He trails off when he gets to the door. “Huh. Cool hair.”

“What were you thinking?” Celia demands, stomping in and depositing the groceries in her arms onto the counter. “How much did this cost?” 

“I don’t know, 60 bucks,” Bex says, making a face. “Why does it matter? It’s my money. It’s my hair.”

“You’re supposed to be learning how to be a responsible parent and you can’t even be a responsible adult,” Celia says. “What’s going to happen when you need that 60 dollars to buy diapers? Or health insurance? Or bibs, or socks? Or a crib? You’re not just in charge of yourself, Rebecca.”

“Look, I’m fine,” Bex says, getting pissed off. She pushes herself up off the couch, swaying on her swollen ankles. “I get to decide what I do to my hair. My body, my choice, remember?” Behind them, Ham slinks upstairs and away from the fighting. 

“Except that there’s another body depending on your body,” Celia says. “Every decision you make affects your baby now, you need to be cognizant of that.”

“How does hair dye affect the baby?” Bex practically yells. “It’s not like it’s gonna seep through my head and into my uterus!”

“You need to base your decisions on raising your daughter, not on being some… some cool, rebellious teenager.”

“I know exactly how I’m raising my daughter,” Bex says coldly. “I’m raising her better than you raised me.”

“You don’t get it!” Celia says. “You’re not just my daughter anymore, you’re somebody’s mother. You need to start acting like it.” 

“I haven’t even had the kid yet and you already think I’m a terrible mother!” Bex yells.

“You haven’t given me a reason to believe otherwise,” Celia counters. 

“Well, I’m—” Bex falters, a hand flying to her belly. Something  _ hurts _ , something’s sending shooting pains through her body. It doesn’t feel like a contraction, not the way she read about that. It’s like a stabbing throbbing feeling through her upper abdomen. “Something’s wrong. Mom, something’s wrong.”

It’s like a switch has been flipped. Celia runs to her, holding an arm out to steady her and putting her other hand on Bex’s abdomen. “Don’t worry,” she says instinctively. “Can you walk? Go wait in the car; I’ll drive you to the hospital.” 

As Bex gets wheeled through the busy halls of the Jefferson County Hospital, she comes to the conclusion that studying is a sham. She always thought so when she was in school, but that didn’t stop her from poring over every baby book she could get her hands on. She read all the books and ate all the right foods. She knew as much about having a baby as she could hold in her head.

And that didn’t stop things from going wrong. 

After a series of blood pressure tests and urine tests and doctors running in and out of her room, they finally come back with a diagnosis: preeclampsia. “It means your blood pressure is too high and that can cause complications with the baby,” the doctor says to her. It’s like he’s talking to her from underwater. The only thing that feels real is the weight on her stomach and her mother’s hand holding hers tight. 

“It’s treatable,” Celia says. It’s not a question.

“In moderate cases, yes,” the doctor says, holding his clipboard like a shield. “But with the severity that this case progressed with and how close to the due date we are, I feel it would be best to deliver the baby via c-section as soon as possible.”

Bex watches the world swim before her eyes. “C-secton? Like, like cutting it out?” She scrambles for her mom’s arm. “Is that okay? Is that… is the baby gonna be okay?”

“A lot of women have to get c-sections,” Celia says, putting a hand on Bex’s shoulder. “It’s going to be okay, I swear. I’ll be right here.” And even though Bex’s hair is still red and she’s still a pregnant 18-year-old, Celia doesn’t look angry or disappointed at all. For an instant, Bex and her mother are finally on the same page. 

The doctor leaves to arrange an emergency cesarean section, and Celia pulls Bex close and kisses her on the forehead. “What if something goes really really wrong?” Bex says in a hoarse whisper, like if she says it too loud it’ll be real. “What if—?”

“Shh,” Celia says, looping an arm around Bex and rubbing her shoulder. “Rebecca, you and the baby are going to be  _ fine _ . Okay? You’re so brave. You are so, so brave and so strong and I know your daughter is going to be brave and strong too.” 

Bex nods, tears escaping. She hates crying, and she’s cried during these eight and a half months more than she has before in her life. “I still want you to be my mom,” she admits, hooked on their last argument. “I still want to be your daughter.”

“Did you think…? Honey, I’ll always be your mother,” Celia says, brushing Bex’s bangs out of her face. “Always, always, always.”

The doctors bring in a consent form that Bex signs with shaky fingers, and then there’s the epidural and being wheeled into an operating room. Her mother is there almost the whole time, only stepping away so she can change into scrubs, a gown and a mask. She sits by Bex’s head and talks her through the whole thing as the doctors make the incision and deliver her baby. 

She cries. The baby cries as soon as she’s out. 

Bex hears it and feels the whole world change. 

The doctors give the baby to Celia and Bex turns her head and  _ there she is _ , little and pink and blinking her huge eyes up at her. “Do you have a name picked out?” a nurse asks.

Celia looks expectantly at Bex, and Bex nods. “Yeah… Andi. Andi with an ‘i.’ Andi Mack.”

And then a nurse takes the baby away. “Where’s she going?” Bex mumbles, trying to crane her neck even as the doctors begin stitching her back up. “Where are they taking Andi?” 

“Shh, they’re just going to get her cleaned up,” Celia says, wiping away tears of her own. “You’ll see her again soon.”

It’s not soon enough. First they need to stitch her back up and take her to a recovery room. And then she has to wait almost another half hour before they bring back the baby. And finally, finally, the nurse comes back holding a little bundle in a pale pink hat and pink pajamas with little mittens on the end for the baby’s little, little fingernails. 

“Would you like to hold h— ?” 

“Yes! Yes,” Bex says, sitting up gingerly. The nurse hands her the baby, and Bex is amazed by how heavy she is, how warm. Like a tiny little space heater. “Hi, Andi,” Bex says, looking down at that tiny face with those big eyes. 

The baby stretches a hand up to her, and Bex notices the tiny hospital bracelet that matches the one on her own wrist. “She’s beautiful,” Celia says, leaning in to look at the baby. 

“Can I… can I get a minute with her?” Bex says, looking at her mother, at the nurse. Both women nod and step out, letting the door quietly close behind them. 

Bex looks at the little baby in her arms. Her baby. Her daughter. “Hi, Andi,” she says again, laughing a little and crying a little at the same time. “I’m your mom. I’m your mom, how weird is that?” The baby smiles her toothless little smile. 

“Can I tell you a secret?” Bex says, holding Andi close. “I… I don’t think I’m always going to be enough for you, Andi,” she admits, even though it hurts to say. “I think I’m going to mess up and do things wrong. I think I’m not going to be enough for you.

“But you will  _ always  _ be enough for me.” She rocks the baby side-to-side, feeling the past year spill over her, feeling the weight of her daughter in her arms. “I keep hearing all this stuff about people having to give things up when they become parents. But I don’t feel like I’m losing anything, Andi. You’re the best thing… that could ever happen to anyone. You’re enough. You’ll always be enough.” 

She brings Andi closer and kisses her forehead, gently, just the way her mother did to her.

And then her father bursts in the room with Celia lagging behind him. “That’s her? That’s my grandbaby?” he says, one arm around Celia. “Bex…”

“This is Andi,” Bex says, holding Andi up so Ham can see her. “I made her.” 

Ham’s got a camera swinging haphazardly around his neck. “Lemme get a picture of you two,” he says, lifting the camera. “Bex and her baby girl, oh wow.” 

Bex smiles. The flash goes off. 

 


End file.
